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ROSEMA RY 



SECOND EDITION 

ROSEMARY 

BY 

Qyde Robe Meredith 

and" 




PRIVATELY PRINTED 

On The Hollywood Press 

BALTIMORE. 1803 




75 33-2.^ 



ilo^ 



- ! A3,? CL, Wfi. "1.-;.| 
1 3 t>. t ^- 



Copyrighted 1903 by The Authors. 
All Rights Reserved. 



CONTENTS 



A Maiden who lived in Bel Aire, Meredith. 

A Ballad of Contradictions, 

A Dapper young chap from Duquesne, 

A Tale of Woe, " 

Blessed is the man, 

Don't kick a man. 

Don't Knock, 

Elfs Boots, Webster. 

Glaucus and Scylla, Meredith. 

Honor, and Fame, „ 

Indian Summer, 

Jonas Tubbs, Webster. 

Loving Faith, 

My Wish, Meredith. 

Olaf The Fortunate, 

0, My Love's the fairest maiden, " 

Pygmalion And Galataea, „ 

Silence is not always golden, „ 

Story of a Clock, Webster. 

Sorrow doth make kinsmen, Meredith, 

Sometime, „ 

The Stream, „ 

The Asymptote, „ 

To Leuconoe, „ 



The Daisy's Lament to the Wind, Meredith. 

The Song of The Sirens, „ 

To Florida, Webster. 

To Thaliarehus, Meredith. 

There onee was an old maid named Baxter, „ 

The Preference, „ 

The fate of the Tove, „ 

The wieked Mad Mullah of Swat, „ 

Vanitas Vanitatum, „ 

Woman, Webster, 

Warp and woof, Meredith. 



TO OUR READERS 



WE take great pleasure in presenting 
this edition of Rosemary in its improved form, 
feeling sure that all will consider it vastly su- 
perior to the first edition, both in mechanical 
workmanship and in literary excellence. Our 
best efforts have been put into the work w^ith 
much more gratifying results than ^vere achiev- 
ed from the first edition; although that brought 
forth comment of a most encouraging nature, 
and far beyond our expectations. 

The literary tone of the present Rosemary 
has been agreeably heightened by seme alter- 
ations and additions deemed necessary to attract 
book lovers who particularly value writings of 
a classical nature. Mr. Meredith's transcriptions 
from the Greek have amply satisfied this taste. 

To those who Vv'ould read in a lighter vein, 
the w^ork affords abundant relaxation, thus blend- 
ing the whole in harmonious lights and shades 
that must appeal alike to the mental and the 
physical sense cf the reader. 

—The Publishers. 



MY WISH 
OH! not in scorn, and not in mockery, 
Adown Life's dreary pathv^^ay would I walk 
To gape with curious eye, and selfish heart 
Upon the endless throng of men; each one 
Dull eyed, and sick at heart. Faith gone; and Hope 
Sunk deep in sullen, blank despair, since all 
Their effort but recoils upon themselves. 
Men follow Duty, Wisdom, Pleasure's smile 
And soft seductive voice; but all in vain: 
The prize is always just beyond the grasp. 
Sad, sad and weary is the day of Life; 
And few enough the sunbeams bright that pierce 
The arching clouds and light the desolate way 
To w^here, beyond the gateway of a life 
More full, more bright; each heartfelt longing, vague 
And unfulfilled desire shall know for aye 
Fruition full; and blank despair give place 
To joy forever in the Better Land. 
Oh! let me shed some joy along the v/ay; 
Some downcast heart lift up; some mourner cheer, 
I'd think my life well spent; count this my great 
Reward; rest satisfied whate'er of good 
Or ill the future held in store for me: 
Could I but know some weary, lonely one 
Had seen the way grow bright; could I but bring 
One hearty laugh to lips long drawn with pain. 



ELI'S PATENT BOOTS 



/OP'^] 



LI "WHITTLE was the greatest in- 
ventive genius ever was in our neighbor- 
hood. He was a young man who al- 
^isy ways seemed to be on the study; and 
something usually came of it, too. 
<JL I remember how he used to study 
the peculiarities of the weather. Never 
was a kind I'2Ii couldn't tell you about, 
'and never seen so much as a barometer. 
Went altogether by signs. His first 
duty in the morning, was to go out and 
stand in the yard about an hour v\rithout 
so much as moving a hair. Just looked* 
you know, and then he was prepared to 
say what kind of a day 'twould be» in 
that quiet way of his. Never talked 
loud, nor much. 

C. Eli was pretty keen on the fiddle, too. They 
always got him to play at all the country dances 
winter times; he could call the figures in mighty 
fine shape. Eli got studj/ing one day over his 
old fiddle; v/anted one he see to tow^n, but could'nt 
raise the price. Somebody told him that if he'd 
bust the one he had all up and then glue the 
pieces together again t'would have a better tone; 
so he broke her up. After he got the back and 
sides stuck together a£;ain, he laid the tail-piec3 
inside so it could'nt get lost, and went to bt: 1. 



C Next day while in one of his studies, he 
glued the front on and then looked for his tail 
piece so he could be all ready to string her 
up when the glue was dry. But I started to 
tell about the boots. 

^ Eli was quite a reader and after reading 
about a big fire in which a lot of people was 
burnt to death, he got to working on a scheme 
to save lives. He allowed that if a pair of 
boots was made with weights onto them and 
the soles weir protected with pure rubber, a 
man couid just jump out of a seventeen story 
building, in case of fire, with a pair of these 
patent boots on, and be saved easy enough. 
<4L I remember the first time he tried the pair 
h:: made himself. Didn't have very good ma- 
t. rial to work with though. Got up on the hen- 
house and jumped off and like to broke his neck, 
because lie didn't see the wheelbarrow and lit on 
top of it. 

C A IzllcMv come out from the city that sum- 
mer, and he made plans of the boots, sent 
the drawings away and had 'em put up right; 
they v%7a3 funny looking boots, though. Then 
Eli and the city chap tried to think where 
they could test 'em. Couldn't find any place 
high enough to jump from. Of course, Eli 
could have first chance, the city fellow said, 
'cause it was his patent. 
4L At last Eli allowed he would start from 



the peak of the big barn. Had quite a time 
getting up there on account of being unable 
to find a ladder long enough, but made it at 
last and jumped off. Down he come like an 
arrow, and lit plumb on his feet as he ought to 
do; but right here is where the big surprise 
come. Eli no more than touched, before he 
went up again, right to the peak where he 
jumped from. Then down, and up a second 
time, but he lacked a couple of inches of go- 
ing as high as before. The city chap tried to 
ketch him next time he lit, but Eli was too 
quick for him; sailed up like a scairt sparro^v► 
So it went; sometimes Eli was up, and some- 
times down, but moving so blamed fast no- 
body could stop him. I could see that he w^as 
diminishing a trifle every jump, but after three 
hours of jumping, and no signs of quitting, the 
city chap got a club and knocked Eli dovm. 
C All he said when he come to was: "Them's 
the gosh-hangdest boots I ever had on." And 
he aint tried 'em on since. 



A dapper young chap from Duquesne 
Once courted a widow named Blesne. 

His money he spent 

'Til he hadn't a cent; 
But all of his labor was vesne. 



W O M A M 

" ' The proper study of mankind is man, ' — 
The most perplexing one, no doubt, is woman, 
The subtlest that the mind can scan. 
Of all deep problems, heavenly or human! " 
CWOMAN is something not thoroughly under- 
stood, even by woman herself. She is capable of 
acts undefined and inexplicible. Centuries have 
passed in which sages and philosophers have 
written of her, and poets have sung their songs in 
praise of her, yet they knew her not. Men of every 
cult and nation have studied her carefully from 
every point of view, but to no purpose. She is 
past finding out. Nay! one thing they do know 
and it is this: If she has a whim or an idea, and 
man feels like opposing her on the ground that it 
is not feasible, he does not, if he is in his right 
mind, follow his inclination and oppose her. What 
is the use? Her nature is complex, and her ways 
varied. Like a watercourse clogged, she will 
find a way around any obstruction. 
C "We do not wish anyone to understand by 
this that she uses force. Unlike man who so 
often relies on brute strength and nerve to 
carry out a project, she attacks the weaker side 
of masculine nature; and often, very often, storms 
the citidel to such good purpose that he never 
knows that he has been bent to woman's will 
unless she tells him so. Gay never spoke truer 



words than when he said: "'Tis Woman that 
seduces all mankind: by her we first were 
taught the wheedling arts." 

C, Woman has been a great power in the world, 
both for good and for evil. Thousands have 
been sent to ruin by her siren voice and kin- 
dred charms; and millions have been lifted to 
pinnacles whose di^zy heights they never would 
have scaled had it not been for her courage, 
admiration, and fidelity. 

C One of her cardinal virtues is faith in the man 
she loves; let her but pin her faith to him and there 
is no limit to his greatiiess in her eyes. He is a 
hero, and, urged on by her devotion, many a man 
has been lifted from the depths of despair, and, 
upheld by her pride, and ambition, and faith, has 
perfomed deeds of valor, and attained a moral man- 
hood he otherwise would never have known. 
C. Let man boast of his superior strength and wis- 
dom! It is an empty, idle boast. Behind all man- 
kind is the weak i:iand of Woman, wielding her 
mighty influence, sometimes fo good, sometimes 
for evil, according to her own heart, but neverthe- 
less an influence. Kers the hand that has sway- 
ed empires and caused thrones to totter and 
fall to the ground. Hers the restraining hand 
that through years unnumbered has saved 
man from the level of the brute, builded homes 
and kept the fabric of civilization from crumbl- 
ing to dust. Hers the voice that has cried out 



unceasingly for purity. 

C. Oh, "Woman! Uncomprehending man cannot 
find you out, yet the world holds no treasure 
so sacred and so dear; no pearl so priceless. 
In all the crown of God-given gifts, you are 
the richest gem. All the love, pity, beauty, 
pleasure, joy and sorrow of a universe are cen- 
tered in you, and man bends the knee in will- 
ing homage. It is your right and shall never 
be taken away. 

C Amid all the trials and vexations of this life* 
we turn to you for help and sympathy. Your 
refining influence has saved us from becoming 
barbarians. Days, months, years and ages shall 
circle away, but as long as earth retains its 
pattern, you will stand a living monument to 
truth, purity, and virtue. 



The wicked Mad MoIIah of Swat — 
A place most abominably hot — 
Endeavored to put in his pot 
The Ackhownd who ruled o'er that spot. 
But just when he thought him he'd got, 
The Ackhound grew wise to his plot; 
And taking of soldiers, a lot, 
He killed the Mad Mullah of Swat— 
Thaf s what! 



THE FATE OF THE TOVE 

A song: of the gaoby Palowber I'll sing; 

The fate of the jobalent Tove — 
The gfauby Paloaber would hunt the gay Pog 

Across the snell meadows of Gove. 

The gauby Paloober declared it no cinch 
To stobe through the scwmbledy wong, 

While down in the lambledent scoram the Tove 
Jobated of goalick, and fung, 

Of goalicfc, and ftjng did the jobalent Tove 
Thfowghout the gl«g hours of the day, 

Fast gribber and gr ibber in mogglesome glee; 
Fast gribbcr his somnifant lay: 

Until, when his patience evapted and fled, 
The gauby Palouber, in wrath, 

Dccalloed the jobalent Tove in his glee, 
As scythe necs the gleg aftermath. 

And so we may learn from the fate of the Tove 
Our mogglesome glee for to hide; 

And never to gribber our somnifant lay 
Where gauby Paloubets abide. 



Sorrow doth make kinsmen of us all. 



WARP AND WOOF 



AN ALLEGORY 

NCE, a long, long time ago, there wan- 
dered through the sweet, golden days of 
summer, a youth and maiden. Friends, 
iand comrades were they, and as they 
wandered over hill and dale, and through 
I the quiet meadows, they were very, very 
happy. Right joyously they laughed 
I and talked of many things; of themselves, 
of each other, and of what the future 
'might have in store for them. And over 
their fair sky there hovered nor shadow, 
nor cloud. 

C *' W^hen I am a woman, I shall be fa- 
■ mous, " said the girl. " I shall give my- 
self to wisdom, and all the world shall 
hear of me, and shall come and learn of 
me, and my life will be full of glory, and I shall be 
very great. " 

C And the youth answered: " When I am a man, 
I shall be rich, and the poor shall come to me, and 
I will help them; and my name and goodness will 
be in all men's mouths, and every one will love 
me; and I shall be very happy. " 
C But the maiden laughed, and tossed her head 
in scorn. " Silly boy! " She said. " W^hat is love? 
Come with me and we will both be great, and the 
whole world will echo our fame; and our joy will be 
complete. " 



C Sadly the boy turned away, for he loved the 
maiden passing well; but not for him was this 
brilliant picture of honor and fame. His heart 
yearned for the quiet places of life: for love, and 
home, and happiness. And as he walked sorrow- 
fully away, the glorious sunshine grew strange- 
ly dim; the day lost all of its charm; and as 
he bowed his head, a tear glistened on his 
cheek. 

€L Many ^veary years passed by ere the boy 
and girl, no longer in the sweet freshness of 
youth, met again. 

C "And have you grown wise?" asked the man. 
"And do all men speak your praise? And have 
you achieved glory and fame?" 
CL "Ah no," sighed the woman, wearily. "Hon- 
or and fame have never come to me; I am un- 
known; and I have not grown wise. And you? 
Have you found riches? And do the poor come 
to you and share your bounty? And are you 
happy?" 

C The man shook his head. "Happiness I have 
never known," he answered mournfully. "The 
rich mock at my efforts to help the poor; and from 
those who accept my bounty I win naught but in- 
gratitude. O dear heart! blindly have we erred, 
and far have we strayed from the path of joy. 
Naught but love can sooth the cares of life; and 
naught else can give us happiness and peace. 
Let us turn, ere it be too late, and walk no 



more alone, but hand in hanJ. tread together 
the thorny path of life." 

C, So in the evening of their lives they learned 
the wisdom they had scorned in youth; and in 
the evening of their lives they entered the only 
path that leads to peace and jcy. 
C But their happiness was not complete; through 
long disuse and neglect, their hearts, once warm 
and tender, had grown cold and hard; so that 
never more to them would come the glorious 
fullness of love; but, over their lives sad-eyed 
regret would brood forevermore. 



HORACE'S "THE PREFERENCE" 

Boy, I detest the vain pomp of the Persians — 
Chaplets entwined with the bark of the linden. 
And for the last fragrant roses of summer 
Seek not, I pray thee. 

Myrtle is not in the least unbecoming; 
Either for thee whilst engaged in thy service; 
Or for me drinking my wine in contentment 
Under this arbor. 



A BALLAD OF CONTRADICTIONS 

I always love my enemys^ 
And hate my dearest friends. 

And ever to its very worst 
My better nature tends. 

I always drink when I am faint, 

My hunger to appease; 
And always quench my burning thirst 

By eating stilton cheese. 

I always stroll about the house 

"When e'er I go to bed; 
And always lace my stockings up 

While sitting on my head. 

I always move when I am still: 

But 'spite of all my care, 
I'm always forced to use my hands 

Whene'er I comb my hair. 



There once was an old maid named Baxter 
Never married 'cause nobody axtei*; 

Which was realy quite sad. 

As a v/artn heart she had: 
But of this people never had taxter. 



A TALE OF WOE. 

Once a ftjnny little bwnny 
With a very brevis tail 
Stoic a gherkin from a firkin. 
Then set «p this dismal wail: — 

**Deaf, oh dear! I feel so qtieer! I 
Wonder if Fm going to die? 
Every feather twrns the weather — 
How I wish I had some pie. 

**B«t a feeling gently stealing 
'Round my equatorial line — 
Language fails me. Something ails me. 
Yes, for love my heart doth ptne. 

**GoId and silver, yes, until vet- 
Acity be proved a lie; 
I would give her every stiver. 
Though the salt tear dims my eye; 

"But I dare not.** And I care not 
E'en a single row of beans; 
Still I wonder what in thunder 
All this arrant nonsense means. 



Don't knock; — there are others. 



PYGMALION And GALATEA 
A Transcription. 



T was a clear, balmy day in the 
golden autumn time, and Py*gmalion 
'^' lay at ease on a hillside back gf the 
^[beautiful city of Paphos, gazing over 
^^ the fair plain spread before him. The 
scene ^vas surely an enchanting one: 
The verdant plain dotted here and there 
with stately olive trees, and rich 
with the purpling clusters of the 
vine; troops of fair matrons and grace- 
ful maidens danced upon the green 
in holiday attire; and the sounds of 
music and laughter floated up to him 
as he lay stretched out upon the 
fragrant hillside. 

C " The curse gf Demeter upon wo- 
mankind!" he said, scowling at the joyous 
scene below him. "The curse gf Zeus upon 
the false god ^vho has taught us the secret of 
the winecup. 'Tis he who has debauched our 
women, and brought low our people's pride. In 
his accursed worship have our mothers, and 
wives, and daughters lost all their virtue and 
respect; and are become a byword for impur- 
ity. It is enough! Never more will I endure 
the presence of mortal woman. Henceforth I 
will leave their hauiits and dwell aione.' 



C^ Descending the peaceful hillside as the weary 
sun was casting the long shadows gf evening 
upon the grateful land, he vv;^ent moodily to 
his abode. 

€1. Scarce had rosy-fingered Dawn opened the gates 
of the joyous day, when Py^gmalion turned his back 
upon the haunts of men. Going to a quiet and lone- 
ly vale he knew, far in the depths gf the dim and 
hoary forest; a vale unknown, save to the Dryads 
that haunt the lone woodland; there, alone with 
nature, he made his home. " 
€L He passed the long, sweet summer days in 
following the chase; but when hoary Winter had 
stretched his icy hand over the world, and had 
bound the gentle rivers vv^ith chains gf adamant; 
then he remembered the art which his blessed 
father had taught him when he was a youth. 
The lofty mountain furnished him with a block 
of marble; and v>7ith the tools given him «/ old 
by cAthena, he v/rought patiently at his task. 
C Long and patiently he wrought; and, under 
his skillful hands guided by the Sea-born goddess, 
the stone grew into a form qf wondrous beauty. 
Slowly, slov«;ly, chip by chip the cold marble fell 
away, until at last the image of the Divine 
goddess stood unfolded in all gf its radient beauty. 
so true and lifelike was the statue that Pjrgmalion 
almost fancied it to be endowed vAXh life. Tall, 
slender, perfect in form and feature; as it stood there 
in all ^ its divine beauty; a beauty excelling the 



beauty g^ mortal women, even as the light of 
Phcebos excells that of his sister, Selene; Pyjj- 
malicn gazed and gazed; his whole soul enraptured 
until his heart, inspired by Aphrcdyte exclamed: 
"Art thou human or divine? Art thou the work 
of my hands, or art thou some nymph g/' the lonely 
mountain-side whom m.y hands have released from 
these marble bonds? Tell me, oh most beauteous 
maiden! dost thou live and breathe? This gentle 
breast that I clasp so reverently to mine, does it 
throb with the blood of life? " 
C Day after day the Queen of Love filled his heart 
more and more with the beauty of his work, until 
on the day when the fruitful Year had brought once 
more the pleasant spring-time, Pygmalion was fain 
to entreat the Sea-born goddess, even at her sacred 
shrine, to breathe the breath of human life into his 
statue of her. Thrice the sacred flame leaped sky- 
ward as a token that his prayer was heard; and 
accepting the happy omen, he returned to his 
abode. 

C. Going swiftly to the couch w^here he had laid 
her with tender care, he knelt and raised the 
statue in his arms. 

C Did her heart beat, or was it but the beating 
of his own anxious heart? "Were his kisses re- 
turned? Again and again he pressed his glowing 
lips to hers. What is this? Do her eyelids trem- 
ble? Oh joy! they open. Those glorious eyes 
look into his for an instant, then are ca^t down. 



S'owly, f'lowly they are again raised and Iook into 
his with the tenderest love and joy; while the 
delicate blush sT maiden modesty veils her lovely 
face as she sinks into his passionate embrace. 
C After awhile he speaks in accents gf won- 
drous joy: "Galatsea shalt thou be called, because 
thou shalt become the mother of a pure race; 
and in thee shall our land be restored." And 
he kissed her, stroking with loving hand her silky 
hair which covered them both as with a bridal 
veiL 

€L Slowly raising her face to his, and placing 
her arms around his neck, she whispered in 
accents of the most melting tenderness: " Py*6- 
malion, oh my beloved! " While all the hosts 
of Olympos voiced the Paeon of joy. 



THE ASYMPTOTE 

See how the gentle asymptote 
Delights to dance and sing! 

He frisks around and 'round and 'round 
As gay as anything. 

He courts the modest circle, and 

Is always faithful, yet 
He's doomed to dissapointment, for 

He never can her get. 



THE STREAM 

I fain would lie where daisies grow; 
And balmy winds in gladness blow 

Among the leafy trees; 
And o'er my head, sweet, soft, and low, 

The drowsy horn of bees. 

Thus would I rest, nor would I sigh 
To see the hours wing swiftly by 

As in a fading dream; 
But watch the fleecy clouds on high 

Glassed in the quiet stream. 

The stream that glides 'neath mossy banfej 
And creeps through grass and lilies rank; 

Where bends the alder low: 
Then 'neath a rustic bridge of plank 

With swift and quiet flow. 

To where, 'neath shade of giant pine* 
The placid cows at ease recline 

From heat of noonday sun. 
Then on again, like sparkling wine 

The crystal waters run, 



Until at last ihey reach the mill 
That stan<^s beneath the grassy hill 

With old and moss-grown walls* 
Then o'er the wheel that ne'er is still 

The bwsy streamlet falls. 

And dashes on with foam and spray 
To where the speckled beattties play 

In pools deep, calm, and clear; 
Then through the forest, old and gray; 

And thence into the mere. 

The quiet mere that gathers all 
The treasures of the stream, and all 

Safe hides beneath its wave: 
Ajs we glide down Life's stream, and fall 

At last into the grave. 

Beside that streamlet would I lie. 
And watch the hours wing swiftly by 

As in a fading dream; 
And trace the fleecy clouds on high 

Glassed in the quiet stream. 



Honor, and fame, and glory usually are the re- 
wards of mediocrity; while true greatness often is 
forced to rest satisfied with the consciousness of duty 
well done. 



SOMETIME 

Sometime, dear love, we'll meet, and then FII know 
The meaning of these half formed hopes and fears. 
Sometime, dear love, the son will pierce the gloom 
That hides the brightness of the passing years* 
Sometime, dear love, tbowgh when I cannot know. 
My heart will find its lonely way to thine, 
My ear will catch the music of thy voice. 
And I shall clasp thy waiting hand in mine. 

Sometime. 

IVe never seen thy gentle face, dear love, 
But I have felt thy heart beat close to mine* 
And sometime, in the coming years, dear love. 
My longing eyes shall gaze their fill in thine* 
And only in the quiet hours, dear love, 
IVe heard thy voice ring softly through the night. 
But still I knov/ the future holds thee safe; 
And we shall meet, and faith give place to sight, 

Sometime* 




THE STORY OF A CLOCK 




KE Czar sat on his throne, thinking. 
It was a habit he had when not oth- 
^erwise occupied. Ke was considering 
who in the Empire should be killed 
'off, when suddenly the clock struck 
seventeen. The Czar looked up quickly. 
A puzzled, then alarmed expression 
crept over his face, probably because 
^it could not creep over his back. 
'Great Czarina," he cried, "why does 
the clock strike thusly? Away!" he 
shouted to the Court attendant, "and 
send Count The-stars-sky, the vAst 
man, here at once. If he is not be- 
fore me in one moment, you lose your 
empty head." 
C The luckless wight flew to do his master's 
bidding, and in exactly fifty-seven CSi, one-half sec- 
onds, Count The-stars-sky stood before his roy- 
al Nibs. *'What wouldst have, oh most mighty 
one," said he. 

C "Art wise enough to tell what time it is 
when the clock strikes seventeen?" queried the 
Czar. 

C The Count scratched his head and replied: 
'O great and noble ruler! I am wise in many 
things, and on matters of both the earth and 
the heavens I am out of sight, but I confess 



that I cannot answer your last question." 
C Then the Czar was exceeding wroth and or- 
dered four clashes of the Court cymbals, where- 
upon, four strong men appeared. He motioned 
them to seize the poor wise man. "Take yon- 
der fool to the chop-house, and hang his mis- 
erable head on the West gate of St. Peters- 
burg." 

C Days passed, and still his Highness medi- 
tated. At last he wrote a circular and had it 
posted throughout all the Russias, saying that 
he who could answer the vexing question 
should be made rich; but if he failed the first 
time, — off should go his head. 
€L Many came and tried, — and failed; until the 
Royal Chopping Machine got so far behind in 
its orders that the butchers had to stay up 
nights and work overtime; and yet the mystery 
was not solved. 

C At last a poor young fellow called at the im- 
perial gates, and asked admission. The guards 
looked him askance, for he Tvas a very meek man, 
and they felt that it was only more Vi^ork for the 
poor, over-tasked meat men. However, according 
to the Czar's orders, he was admitted to the surly 
monarch's presence. 

C Then came the old question: " Can you tell me 
what time it is when the clock strikes seventeen? '* 
All the courtiers waited with bated breath. " It is 
time, Most Noble One, that the clock was fi::ed " 



Came the instant reply. 

C Th^n ti2 cloal fill from the Czar's face, and he 
fell upon the poor man's neck and wept. He also 
shed tears. " For your wisdom, " said he. " You 
are made the richest man in the provence, and be- 
sides the many roubles I shall bestow, you are also 
made chief wise-man of my court. " 
C So Tinker-the-clock-sky lived happy ever after- 
ward as a brainy man should. 



LOVING FAITH 

C It is not alone the fact you love someone, 
that makes you happy; infinitely more precious 
is the knowledge that you are beloved. To know 
that, following everywhere one may go; whate'er 
one may do; goes the faithful love of one to whom 
his every wish and thought is sacred; this gives 
one a warmth <^ depth of feeling otherwise un - 
known. It places him above the mere sordid 
strivings of everyday life, and builds a w^all about 
him which will save his blundering feet many a 
mis-step. 

C This, then, is the love of woman for man; 
more to be sought after than great riches; and 
seldom or never found: yet, once attained, it is 
wide enough, and deep enough to hide a lifetime's 
trials, making of them but a mockery w^hen placed 
side by side with the shining light of a happiness 
which shall blaze a pathway even unto Eternity. 



HORACE'S TO THALIARCHUS 

See where Soracte stands enrobed 
In white* and deepening; snow; 

And how, beneath their burden* coId» 
The trees are bending low. 

And clear Digentia's busy stream; 

How smooth it is* and stiH: 
Fast bound by icy chains hurled down 

From yonder distant hill. 

But come! Pile high the glowing hearth 

With logs of Aiban pine; 
And draw* my Thaliarchus* from 

The Sabine jar of wine* 

Leave cruel "Winter with its storms 

Unto the gods whose care 
It is to calm the ocean wild* 

And thaw the frosty air. 

Inquire not of Tomorrow what 

It holds in store for thee; 
But what of good each day may bring — 

Rejoice that good to see. 

And while thy youthful blood glows waro^ 
Taste of gay Pleasure's store: — 

Sweet loves* the dance* — enjoy them alh 
Past youth returns no more* 



Soon to the iieliis and quiet lanes 
Win evening bring a throng 

Of joyoas, CMC-itcc girls, and boys, 
Each with a merry song* 

Then will the happy vows be paid 

In stolen kisses sweet; 
And soft, delighted whispers mark 

Where youth and beauty meet. 



TO FLORIDA 

Florida in springtime — 
Jasmine's mantling vine, 

Balmy air, and music. 
Glasses filled with wine! 

But weHI be widely scattered 

Ere the days draw near 
When roses red make summet 
The love-time of the year. 



Blessed Ss the man who never expects 
fitiything; for he shall not be dissapointed. 



THE SONG OF THE SIRENS 

A -TRANSCRIPTION 

^A^ET and clear comes the song across 
the calm iEgaean sea, as the swift ship 
•speeds gracefully along under the bright 
loon-day sky. The captain anxiously 
'scans the horizon. Again comes the echo 
I of that magic song, and the captain shud- 
' ders as he hears it. He knows: The very 
|^vise Odysseus — for it is he — know^s full 
well the meaning of that enchanted lay. 
'C It is the Sirens singing: Singing a song 
of home and loved ones; singing to entice 
the unwary sailor to a cruel and treach- 
erous death. For those who hear that 
song are maddened by its sorcery, and 
lured farther and farther from their way 
until they perish miserably on a barren 
and rocky shore. 

d. Full well Odysseus knows this, for naught of 
wisdom may be hidden from him. Yet a daring 
thought crosses his careful mind: — He will hear the 
Siren's song, and yet escape all harm. 
C Quickly calling his dear companions around him 
and telling them gf their awful danger, and of his 
daring plan; he seals their ears with wax, while they 
in turn bind him firmly to the mast. 
C The ship speeds on. Louder and louder gro-w 
the voices, and sweeter and clearer the song. Nov/ 




Odysseus can hear it in all of its magic beauty; and 
his brain reels with delight. Vainly he strives to 
loosen his bonds, but they hold fast and he cannot 
escape. 

C Now they are passing the mystic isles, and he 
can even distinguish the words gf the wonderful 
song. It is a song gf home: A song of Ithaka— the 
sunny island he has not seen for twelve long years. 
C And now he hears his own dear wife; the glori- 
ous Penelope, sing; and weep as she sings, that 
Odysseus returns no more to his waiting home. 
" Odysseus is false! Odysseus hath forgotten! Od- 
ysseus cares no more for his wife, and child, and 
home in sunny Ithaka. Odysseus hath forgotten! " 
C " Let me go! Loose my bonds. Let me fiy to 
her kind and loving arms. Let me see her beaut - 
eus face once more before I die. O my wife — my 
\vife! " wails Odysseus, forgetting that his compan- 
ions cannot hear his cries. 

€L But now^ they have passed the enchanted isles, 
and the song grows fainter and fainter as the proud 
ship speeds onward over the glassy sea. And now 
the voices have ceased altogether, and the very wise 
Odysseus signals to his dear companions to loose 
his bonds, since all danger is at an end. 
C Unstopping their ears; and raising a paeon gf joy 
to the eternal gods; Odysseus sails away: — The 
only man who ever heard the Siren's song and lived 
to tell the tale. 



INDIAN SUMMER 

There's x iecliag 

Gently stealing: 
Through the short and haty day — 

West wind blowings 

Plainly showing 
Us that Summer's gone away* 

Leaves are falling; 

Plovers calling 
Through the dry and russet grass» 

Flowers dying; 

Thistles flying 
On the zephyrs as they pass. 

Pumpkins yellowing; 

Apples mellowing; 
Chestnuts falling all around; 

Andf a solemn 

Sentry column^ 
G>rn shocks guard the frosty ground. 

West wind sighing 

For the dying 
Flowers that deck bright Summer's toalt^ 

And still flyingr 

Flying, flying 
From the morn 'till evening's gIoom» 



Come ihc feathered 

Legions gathered 
By a word from Winter's motith, 

To the flowers, 

And the bowers 
Of the warm and sonny sooth. 



A SONG 

Oh! my love's the fairest maiden 
Ever made a home rejoice 

With the sunshine of her presence. 
And the music of her voice. 

Oh! her eyes are like twin pansies. 
And her lips like rose-buds rare, 

And a very snare of beauty 
Is her long and wavy hair. 

Every atom of my being 

Trembles into sweetest rest 

When my weary head is pillowed 

On her warm and fragrant breast. 

And her heart is mine forever; 

Yes, forever and a day; 
And ni love her 'til the heavens 

And the earth shall pass away. 



OLAF THE FORTUNATE 



ALLEGORY 




ORN in the rugged 
Northland ^vhe^e the 
Ice King holds his sway; 
he was tall and lithe, 
and strong. Fair of face, 
with eyes blue and clear 
as the depths of a rock- 
bound fjord, and hair 
that shone with the 
glint of burnished gold; 
he was bright and beau- 
tiful as some old Norse god. 

C His mother, in the love of her heart, called him 
" Olaf ; " for she said " he will be a ccmfcrt to my 
old age. " And as he grew to manhood, he was 
filled with all the wisdom of the Elves, and Fays; 
and his hands ^vere cunning with all the skill of the 
Gnomes; so that through all the length ard breadth 
of the land, wherever he was known, he was called 
*' Olaf, The Fortunate; " because whatsoever his 
hand touched, that tiling prospered exceedingly. 
C After a while he went to school; unlike his hum - 
ble playmates who knew naught of learning and 
books: w^here he drank deeply of the stored up 
wisdom of the age.s A poet born, he possessed 
wondrous skill in music; and his pencil could 



seize the very soul of beauty and hold it for 
all time. 

C But the spirit of the Vikings was in his 
heart, and the spirit of the sea was in his blood; so, 
with never a word of farewell to those who had 
surrounded his youth with joy, he left the pleasant 
valley that had sheltered him for so long, and ran 
away to sea. 

C For many years he made the boundless sea his 
home; visiting strange lands, and meeting strange 
peoples, and learning their v<^ays of life: and many, 
yes, many fair women smiled upon him, and 
bade him cease from his wanderings, and many 
true friends he found who bade him stay with 
them: but the spirit of unrest was ever upon 
him, so that no charm could bid him stay, un- 
til at last, youth gone, and the strength of man- 
hood failing, he, no longer poor and unknown, 
sought in a far off land for the peace which 
he had not found upon the sea. 
C For once, upon his wanderings to and fro 
upon the waste of waters, he had sees a wo- 
man's face. Fair and sweet; with blue eyes, and 
golden hair; Olaf knew at last what it was that his 
life had lacked for so long: knew at last the mean- 
ing of the vague but insistant longings that would 
not be stilled: knew at last the meaning of the lone- 
liness, and unrest that had made of him a wander- 
er upon the boundless deep, and had urged him 
ever on and on toward the illusive goal of peace and 



contentment. So now, no longer poor and \xn- 
known, he left the sea for a land far from the place 
of his birth; and there, amid a strange people* he 
sought and found his bride. 

C For a time he was very happy. His wife was 
very beautiful; and with no care to vex him; he 
was still " Olaf, the fortunate " , and his life seemed 
very bright. 

C But after a while his sky grew dark. His wife, 
inconstant as fair, grew tired of her husband's love. 
His ways were not her ways, and no bond of sym- 
pathy had grown up to hold them heart to heart; 
so that little by little they drifted asunder, until, at 
last, the parting came, and Olaf was left alone. 
C Then " Olaf, the fortunate, " too old to form new 
ties: and like a plant uprooted by the fierce storma 
of winter; drifted down the dark tide of despair ever 
faster dnd faster until, at last, he sank into a name- 
less grave; old, and poor, and alone. 



Silence is not always golden: sometimes it is a 
brazen lie. 



Don't kick a man when he is down: you are 

not dead yet. 



THE DAISY'S LAMENT TO THE WIND 

"Whisper no more thy sweet stor 7s: — 
Storys of pleasure and love. 

Murmur no more the soft music 

Learned from the tree-tops a!;ovc. 

Fresh as the dew of the morning 
Resting a-whilc on my heart, 

G)me thy glad wings through thesilcncej 
But all too soon they depart. 

Leaving me nothing but sadness: 

Stealing the joy from my day, — 

Even the bees from the forest 

Jeer as they haste on their way» 

Fickle and faithless forever, 

Wandering hither and yon. 

Ever forsaking the old love. 

Heart in the keeping of none. — 

Whisper no more thy sweet storys 

Unto my sorrowful heart. 
Sing not. — or singing, stay with me. 

Never for aye to depart. 



STORY OF JONAS TUBBS 

ALWAYS thought Eli "Whittle was pe- 
:uliar in some ways, but he wasn't 
patching to old Jonas Tubbs; lived 
Sn the same township with him all 
|his life and aint never figured out 
iow he came to die. for of all the 
Itamation contrary men, Jonas was 
the contrariest. He would do every- 
thing he could to spite other folks, 
and when anybody tackled him about 
some of his funny doings, he would 
(always have a reason. I believe he 
fcwas the most onreasonable reasoner 
I ever see; ' t was terrible exasperating. 
^C However he came to get married was 
a mystery to all us town folks; but he 
'did. I remember when he first brought Mary Har- 
din that was, home as his wife, and a mighty smart 
little woman she was, too. Quiet and neat, and 
tended too her ov/n business all the time. ' Nothcr 
thing the neighbors couldn't understand; how she 
lived with Jonas all them years, for the older he got 
the queerer and more contrary he acted. Mary 
stood it all Like the true christian woman she was, 
and tended him til the last breath left his contrary 
body. 

C They lived in a tumble-down stone house, and as 
'bout all Jonas knew was work, she seldom got 




away from it. Jonas' father had a new frame house 
half finished when he died suddenly. Somebody 
asked Jonas why he did n't finish it and he said 
" because my father left it that way." 
CNever went to church, or saw the circus " because 
everybody else went." Never was on a train; and 
I reckon ten miles would reach farther than he ever 
got away from his birth-place. 
C. He did n't smoke, or drink; and was never known 
to have any fun except once, when somebody coaxed 
him to a camp-meeting. While there, Deacon 
Weathersby's hired men took him in tow, and afore 
he knew what was happening, Jonas was drunker 
than a fool. Cut up awful; and when Mary seen 
him she thought he had gone plumb crazy. No- 
body ever seen him that cheerful since. 
C How he could work! Any man that stayed more 
than a month with Jonas was a mighty good fel- 
ler. His horses was three old plugs, and he actual- 
ly worked 'em to death at the same time keeping • 
" colt " in the pasture fifteen years " waiting for it to 
grow up." 

€L Deacon Weathersby's farm was right next to 
Jonas and a fine place it was, too. He and the 
Deacon had trouble over the line fence and Jonas 
always hated him after that. , I 'member one sum- 
mer that he did most all his haying at night, least- 
wise all he could, " because he didn't want that old 
varmint to see how much hay he had. " 
C Well sir, things went along this way for years. 



Jonas all the time getting more onreasonable and 
crabbed, and working harder all the time. It be- 
gan to tell on him pretty severe 'long toward the 
last; got dropsy in his feet and legs so bad he 
couldn't hardly cripple around, but kept to work 
and would't take no medicine. Kad a terrible 
sore on his left breast that got worse and worse; 
worked all through harvest in that shape, Mary 
all the time begging him to see a doctor. He said 
"it come of itself, and it could go of itself; he was 
not going to monkey with it. " 
C One night Mary went to the neighbors, unbe- 
knownst to the old man, for help. They locked 
him in his own house and then went for Doc Trav- 
ers. "When he got there Jonas was hobbling a- 
round the room, trying to get out, and raising 
Cain. Doc tried to quiet him, but the man had 
been contrary all his life; wouldn't listen when he 
was sensible, and now he had no sense at all. He 
fought 'em off for awhile, but his strength give out 
and Doc made a try at getting him into some kind 
of shape again. 'Twas no use; he was too far gone 
and soon died. 

C Course, it was tough on Mary, but a man had- 
n't ought to be so blamed contrary. 



VANITAS VANITATUM 

€L Behold! as for man, he is as a leaf that is tossed 
by the wind: Yea, the storm -wind catcheth it up, 
and it findeth no place of rest. 
€L Sorrow and dissapointment is his portion thru- 
out all the days of his life: And when his end ap- 
proacheth; it is to rot, and be forgotten. 
C Behold! oh man, the exceeding vanity of all thy 
wisdom; it is even as a puff of smoke: The wind 
sporteth with it, and lo! it is gone; and the place 
thereof shall know it no more. 
C Give ear, oh man! Harken and understand! 
God is, and he alone shall endure. All else is as 
the mist of the morning which the sun scattereth 
afar. The Son ariseth, even the Son of Righteous- 
ness; and all things else shall pass away. 



A maiden who lived in Bel Aire 
Had trouble in combing her haire. 
So she slamed the comb down, 
And said with a frown: 
I'll have it cut off: so thaire! 



GLAUCUS AND SCYLLA 

A "TRANSCRIPXION 



OW gloriously bright the day was! 
Ho-w warmly the summer sun shone 
•down upon the laughing earth! And 
^ilhov/ cool, and inviting seemed her clear 
^^tountain to Scylla, tired of her sport! 
I Since early mom had she roamed over 
grassy hill and dale, and through the 
[peaceful aisles gf the dim and hoary for- 
est, in search of the fairest flowers to 
^deck her glossy hair. Sweet and happy, 
and of wondrous beauty; still was her 
heart her own, for no man had ever 
yet taught her the smiles and tears of 
f love. 

Reclined at ease upon the cool green 
sod, her head pillowed on one pearly 
arm, her half-closed eyes gazing wistfully over the 
crystal w^aters qf the blue /Egaean rolling far away 
into the distance before her; she was suddenly 
startled from her pleasant reverie by a strange 
apparation. Slowly a figure raised itself from the 
bottom qf the quiet sea before her. A strong and 
noble head crowned wnth a mass qf hair long and 
green as the sea-weed; a calm and god-like face; 
a large and brawny chest; colossal shoulders; long 
and graceful arms; but lower limbs indistinct, and 
formed for use under the water rather than upon 
the solid earth. 



"What art thou?" gasped the astonished 
nymph. " A god? " Surely thou art not a mortaL 
Such a form would ill become a dweller upon the 
solid earth. " 

" Glaucus was I called among men. Glaucus 
skilled in casting the net, and in taking the fiinny 
wealth of the teeming sea. But one day in ftow- 
ery spring a strange thing befell me: drawing my 
nets as usual, I had thrown the scaly fish upon the 
grass at my feet. Suddenly the panting and al- 
most lifeless fish began to nibble at the grass about 
them, when lo! their strength returned to them, 
and they all, with one accord, leapt back into the 
waiting sea. Tasting of the sacred grass myself, 
scarce had I swallowed the grateful juice ere I felt 
the wondrous change. Into the willing sea I plung - 
ed to be met by the hoary Poseidon himself who 
raised his hands in prayer and freed me from every 
stain of mortal life. And for thee, oh most beaute- 
ous nymph! have I left my rosy palace in the 
midst of the glassy sea. For I saw thee, and love 
thee, and desire thee for mine own," 

But the beauteous Scylla fled from his prof- 
fered embrace; nor was he, being freed from all 
stain of earth, able to follow her; but sank slowly 
into the depths gf the wavy sea; his heart torn by 
somber grief. 

But soon he bethought him gf Circe, wise and 
artful enchantress: and going in haste to her glo- 
rious island palace, he gave voice to his sorrow and 
desire. 



" O Circe! Mighty daughter gf the glorious C^ 
all-seeing Sun! Powerful enchantress! \Vise; and 
skilled in all the arts gf magic! Incline thine ear to 
my prayer; and accomplish for me my desire: Grant 
that Scylla, most beauteous gf all the daughters of 
Oceanos, may hearken unto the voice of my love!" 

Thus he stood praying with uplifted hands; CBi 
the daughter of the glorious and all- seeing Sun kept 
silence for a space. But soon the Artful Goddess 
spake in this wise: 

" Glaucus, child of the foamy sea, approach! " 

Obeying the command, he advanced and 
stood by the golden portal of her palace, when she 
again spoke. 

" Glaucus, child of the foamy sea, look! " 

And he w^as fain to shield his eyes from the 
splendor of the vision before him. Tall, and radi- 
ently fair, she stood; her starry eyes shining upon 
him; her face lit by a smile of w^ondrous sweetness 
and beauty; her fair w^hite arms outstretched in 
supplication; Glaucus trembled for very fear of her 
beauty as she stood before him. 

" Very beautiful art thou, oh daughter of the 
glorious and all-seeing Sun! yet I love thee not. 
Far more fair to me is the sweet face of the happy 
and innocent Scylla. Fare thee well. " 

" Fool! Barest thou to liken thy pitiful nymph 
to me? And dost thou prefer her love to mine?, " 
exclaimed the artful goddess with angry scorn. 
" Go! Return to thy pitiful nymph! She will not 



scorn thy love; nor will she resist thy embrace: oh 
thou blind and ignorant tool! " 

Leaving the sacred island of the artful goddess 
Glaucus went pensively along the pebbly floor of 
the wavy sea. Scarce had he reached his own happy 
domain ere he was met by the hosts of his ftnny 
subjects, each bewailing in his own tongue the aw- 
ful thing which he had just beheld. A creature of 
horrible deformity had sunk to the bottom of the 
sea in their midst. 

Gazing in pity at the shapeless mass before 
him, Glaucus spoke: 

" Who, and what art thou? oh most unfortu- 
nate one! And who hath wrought this woe upon 
thee?" 

" Sc3^11a was I called of mortals. Scylla whom 
thou didst frighten by the ardor gf thy love. And 
it is Circe, most powerful daughter gf the glorious 
and all- seeing Sun who, because that she was not 
able to win thee to herself, has wrought this woe up- 
on me. Ten thousand years must I abide in this 
wretched state until another shall come, compell- 
ed by the love gf the chaste Selene, herself, who 
shall set me free, and place me within thy kind CSl, 
loving arms. " 

Thus Scy^Ila.. But Glaucus wanders up 
and down, up and down, ceaselessly along the peb- 
bly floor of the wavy sea; waiting, waiting, for 
the fated time to come. 



HORACE'S "TO LEUCONOE 

Nay! do not seek, Leuconoe, 

Thy future state to know; 

Or what of good or ill the Fates 

Upon thee will bestow. 

If health and wealth are given thee, 

And friends, and length of days; 

Fill up thy cup and drink, and shout 

The joyous song of praise. 

But if this day shall bear thee on 

Beyond the tide of years; 

Still sing thy song, and drink thy wine, 

And drown in joy earth's fears. 




^ ^ Biographical 



F. HARRY E. WEBSTER 




THE subject of this sketch is a nat- 
ive of Onondaga county, New York, 
" the land of big red barns, " as he 
himself puts it. A few years after 
his birth, the Webster family re- 
moved to North Dakota (then Dak- 
ota Territory) , where his boyhood 
was spent, he having lived on the 
plains for nearly ten years. 

It was while attending the Fairview School 
that Mr. Webster first ventured into the realms of 
literature. Together with Charles Chester Christie, 
the Fairview News, a school paper, was launched. 
He and Christie published it several seasons, mean- 
while dreaming of the time when they would own 
a genuine newspaper; the dream was never real- 
ized, for in 1890, Webster moved to Mason City, 
Iowa, and entered the office of the Fxpress-Rejnibli- 
can. He worked on this paper for a short time as 
" devil " and contributor with varying success, and 
again " struck the trail, " this time for Baltimore 
Md., where he obtained employment with a rail- 
road company. Christie went to Reynolds, North 
Dakota, mastered the printer's trade, and establish- 
ed the Buxton, (N. D.) Enterprise, being at the age 



of nineteen, an editor and publisher. His death 
came shortly after and robbed the profession of a 
brilliant mind, and Mr. Webster of his best friend 
and future partner. The winter of 1895-6, was 
spent in New York State. Always interested in ev- 
ery new venture in the journalistic field, he became 
a regular correspondent of the De Ruyter (N. Y.) 
Ameriean. This paper had a short and exciting ca- 
reer of one year, W^ebster returning to Baltimore. 
In October, 1901, Mr. Webster conceived the 
plan of establishing an amateur press for the print- 
ing of small original booklets, all the Tvork to be 
done by hand. Mr. Meredith was a willing partner 
and the idea was carried into effect by the founding 
of The Hollywood Press. Several leaflets and 
poems were gotten out, followed Christmas, 1902, 
by the first Rosemary, which met with such favor 
that the edition, of which this is a part, became 
possible. 



CLYDE ROBE MEREDITH 

After the man had gone away, Meredith said: 
" Yours is all right, but who is going to write mine? " 
So I volunteerd to do it myself, if he would give me 
a icvf pointers. 

Meredith is a blonde, with wide-spreading arms 
a high forehead, and an intense longing for food. 



Aside from his books, there is nothing he grows 
enthusiastic over more quickly than the mention 
of something to eat. 

He was bom in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, about 
thirty-two years ago, and left that place very 
shortly afterward. I never learned whether it was 
chickens or the rent. He has never been back. 
He was raised, principally, on railway trains. In 
this respect, he differs from almost everyone else; 
I have heard of babies raised on Eagle Brand con- 
densed milk, and they became " birds " later on, 




but Meredith is the pioneer in using railway trains 
to hurry him along toward manhood. 

Although bom in Iowa, he is of William Penn 
Quaker stock, C8l> naturally drifted to Pennsylvania, 
where his boyhood was spent in acquiring an appe- 
tite and such other information as came his way. 
He tells me that his education consists of " pick- 
ups. " For a man with such a smattering of know- 
ledge he does real well, and in time will be able to 
write breakfast food poetry. 




Early man- 
hood found him 
in Baltimore. I 
say "found him," 
for he admits, 
himself, that it 

^ ~^ was awfully cold 

ln~f<^efi^<_ ^^^^*' ijj that box car 

the last night, so I suppose some one must 
have found him; maybe the brakeman. 

In order to further enlighten the indulgent 
reader, I have drawn some pictures of Mr. 
Meredith in life-like poses. I merely mention 
that I make my 
own illustrations, be- 
cause I do not care 
to have unnecess- 
ary litigation with 
either Messrs. Gib- 
son or Christy. 

You will note a 
riot of red occurring in this book at spasmodic in- 
tervals; that's Meredith. He loves it and when 
festooned with a tie brilliant enough to burn holes 
in his shirt front, is extremely well pleased with 
himself. In justice let me add that red ties, with 
him, do not mean cigarettes also, the latter being 
generally known as a red tie's travelling com.pan- 
ion. When he smokes at all, it must be either a 
choice production of the tropic isles or his old re- 




Mrn+in^ ^ f oCrrv 



liable briar, loaded with fragrant leaf. 

Meredith is musically inclined, but does not 
often attempt to lift up his voice in praise. He 
says he was a right good singer at one time, but 
lost his voice one night while on his way home 
from a party and never recovered it. In fact, nei- 
ther of us sing often; the last time we tried it to- 
gether, the family said either they would move, or 
we would have to. 




•^TV****^^^ 



But my, my! here I have let my pen run on 
and on, until I have laid Meredith's entire career 
bare to the public gaze. Should he ever run for 
office, and his political enemies get hold of this, his 
fate would be sealed; but he asked me to do it, and 
now, upon reading the first proof, says he is more 
than satisfied. 

—F. Harry E, Webster. 



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